


My Weakness (Neighbours AU)

by Wormy_Gutz



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Comfort, Falling In Love Again, Grief, Heartbreak, M/M, Neighbours AU, Recovery, a little bit of bastard lucio, get a load of this depressed dude, hell yeah, julian has flavourful depression asra just has grief depression, like jeez he is SAD, muriel also comes in, portia and nadia are a side couple, sad asra, you guys can bet these fuckers are touch STARVED
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2021-02-19
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:53:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 16,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26937697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wormy_Gutz/pseuds/Wormy_Gutz
Summary: Years after his apprentice passed, Asra finds himself struggling to go back to the home they once shared. He never really spoke to his neighbours, but after finding the task of cleaning his home overwhelming, he doesn't refuse the offer of help that his eccentric and talkative neighbour proposes to him.After all, spending too much time in an empty house seems unbearable.
Relationships: Asra/Julian Devorak
Comments: 20
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

Standing outside of his old home, Asra stopped to take a breath. He hadn’t yet crossed the threshold of the garden, standing on the sidewalk, letting it loom over him, engulfed in the shadow of it. Once or twice, he’d attempted to take that step, to move forwards and cross the thin crack between the concrete and the paving of his driveway. Both times, his stomach had sunk and he’d had to take a moment to breathe, giving him another few moments of cowardice before preparing himself to, once more, try and take that step. 

Faust was coiled up around his arm, her head poking out of his sleeve. She’d grown since he’d last been here, now the full length of his arm when coiled around it where she’d once only brushed his shoulder with the end of her tail.

‘Go?’ her voice echoed in his ear, piqued with confusion and echoing in his static mind, urging him on. He nodded, though couldn’t find his words, before turning his attention to her. He lifted his hand and she coiled out of his sleeve, wrapping thrice around his palm and looking up at him from where she sat atop of it. Her head was tilted to the side, questioning his refusal. 

He looked at her, then back at that house. He’d let it go in the months of absence between each visit. Vines peeked out between the brick foundations of the house, ivy vines having taken over the entire left corner, curling from the floor where they were untamable and unruly to spindly twigs at the top where they were beginning to spread. They’d begun to claim the door, the consequences of careless neglect. The last time that he’d been there, they’d only reached halfway up the house. It was a pathetic sight to behold - his once beautiful house had gone from a place full of life, carefully kept clean and tidy, to an overgrown and weed-ridden cesspool of greenery. The garden he’d once taken pride in was in no condition for his old bragging. 

It had gotten away from him, he supposed. All of it had. 

Again, Faust hummed that little question in his mind. ‘Go?’ she pressed, her little whisper a touch more pressing this time.  
“Yeah,” he muttered with a nod, his voice dry, looking down at where his feet were planted. If he waited much longer, perhaps the vines and the weeds would curl around his ankles, too. Worming their way into his flesh and his clothes, rooting him to the spot. Perhaps then he’d never have to cross that line. He looked back up at that house. “Yeah,” he said again, clearing his throat and speaking more clearly as he took that step, crushing grass and weeds underfoot. He stepped onto a round stone slab dug into the floor, the first of the path leading up to that dreaded door. This pathway had once been cute and quaint, but the weeds seemed to be trying to tear each stone piece apart or uproot them to take over the land that they occupied. To further destroy the garden he’d loved so dearly. 

Faust disappeared under his sleeve again and slithered up his shoulder, curling around his shoulder and draping herself over his neck. She poked her head out from his collar, her tongue flicking out from between her lips.

‘Home!’ she chirped, seeming to be excited to be back. Asra didn’t respond, not matching her enthusiasm. 

He didn’t pat his pockets for his keys, knowing he didn’t keep them on him anymore, and instead collected it from under the doormat. He pressed his palm to the door and sigils carved years ago began to glow. He’d not noticed the vines attempting to grow in the faint marks he’d left behind, but reminded himself to pull those out later, lest they barred him from getting back into his home ever again. 

Once the glow had faded, he slotted the key into the lock and twisted it. It swung open on it’s own. It never did that before - the hinges must have been worn down over time. 

He stopped and took another breath. He couldn’t stop there - he’d already opened the door. He couldn’t leave, surely. Another trip, so soon after the last… the house would fall into disrepair. A fair amount of it had been paid off, and in the state it was in now, it’d make no sense to sell it. He didn’t much want to keep it, though, either. The memories were bitter enough as they were. The least that he could do was keep such a melancholy, cursed house from falling into anyone else’s hands. The burden that this house carried was his to bear, nobody else’s.

He took one last breath of the fresh outdoors air before stepping into that house, pushing the door closed behind him. It swung shut with a loud thud that echoed through the house, humming in the walls. 

The air was cold and stale. The atmosphere was bleak and lifeless. 

The house was silent. 

It had never been so silent before. 

Faust seemed to be thinking the same thing, uncurling from around his neck and down his hand. She asked for Asra to put her down and he complied, setting her on the filthy floor with a grimace. It was dusty and muddy around the door from where he’d stomped in dirt after trips and left before he’d bothered to clean it up. The wallpaper peeled in a couple of places, and he could hear the wind whistling through a poorly-fitting window frame somewhere. Surely this couldn’t have been just a little over year of neglect? The house seemed as distraught as him, aching for some life and pleading for him to care for it. 

It was a job too big for one person. It had always been easier when there was two of them to work at it. 

He took the bag from his shoulders and dropped it by the door - a little ways away from a footprint-shaped patch of mud. He stepped a safe distance away before kicking off his worn down shoes, not wanting to step in mud, regardless of whether or not it had dried.

His eyes dragged around the place, his lips seeming permanently tugged downwards in his misery. This wasn’t the home he’d become accustomed to, just a hollow shell of memories left behind. Part of him hoped that after this journey, he’d come home to music playing somewhere distant, the humming of someone singing, to the smell of whatever was baking in the kitchen. 

That was why it startled him so much when the radio in the kitchen turned on. Static hissed from down a corridor and he frowned, only to recall Faust’s prior slithering. Something akin to hope in his chest - he hadn’t even noticed it festering - was quick to hiss and die, reminding him that the past was the past, and he should have left it behind.

Asra took slow, apprehensive steps towards the kitchen. He pushed open the door, immediately being met with a rather foul stench. There were still plates sitting in the sink. None had had enough food left on them to begin growing another life form after months of being left alone, but perhaps the trash he’d forgotten to take out was another story. Faust was already coiled up around the windows and turning the handles, allowing Asra to open them for her as soon as the smell hit in full force. 

Part of him said that he ought to leave again. It could be a problem for when he was ready to deal with it - when he wouldn’t be so miserable and reluctant. Part of him knew that that was a lie. If he left now, he wasn’t sure he’d come back. 

“Faust, get the back door,” he said, moving to the trash can and keeping as far back as he could as he put his foot on the push pedal. “Let the room air out, I’ll take this out front.”

‘Ok!’ she chirped, and Asra saw her disappearing out of the corner of his eye to get to the back door while he reached out for the trash bags. He took it in both hands and tied it shut about as quickly as he could manage, grimacing at the mix of smells that hit him. If there was some kind of a spell for easy cleaning, he’d have loved that about then.

He held the bag at an arm’s length as he began back to the front door, aware that he was dragging the smell through the house and that it would take one hell of a cleansing to get this place feeling anything but repulsive after this.

When returning from his dangerous quest to take out the trash, he turned and noticed that his neighbour was home. Well - the beaten red car was parked outside. He wondered idly if he’d been seen lingering at the end of his drive for an uncomfortably long time, or if his house was idle gossip for the neighbourhood, a painful victim of time and neglect. 

He shook his head. Best not to think about it. 

Once more, he pushed the front door closed behind himself and began back to the kitchen. He dug out a new trash bag and put it into the trash can, then taking a second. The plates in the sink were surely salvageable, but he set aside only the ones that he’d collected on journeys he remembered fondly and threw the rest out. Anything, so long as he wouldn’t have to clean up quite so much. With a wave of his hand, the faucet gurgled and started to spit out water, running a sludgy grey for an awkwardly long time before it coughed and spat out clear water. 

That was, perhaps, not a good sign. 

After squirting some dish soap in the sink, he let it fill with froth and bubbles before flicking off the faucet and putting in the dishes that were worth saving. Soapy water wouldn’t do much to clean them, but it was the best thing he could manage at the moment. The next thing he needed to do was check closets and cupboards for anything decaying or growing new life. 

First, though… perhaps he’d take a few moments outside. While the dishes soaked and the nauseating smell began to dissipate.

He stepped outside, pushing the door open a little wider and letting Faust slither up his arm again from where she’d been draped around the handle. 

He looked around, a sense of dread running through him. He’d never, not once, stopped to check the state of the garden. His beloved garden… ruined. Overrun by weeds, with the blackberry bush dominating almost a quarter of the fence where it had once been a small and tame twiggy bush. The markers for which herbs were which had faded from the exposure to the weather, meaning he’d need to find new ways to label them and remind himself of which each of them were, where their boundaries ended, etcetera.

And that wasn’t even anything comparable to the effort it would take to reclaim the rest of the garden, the rows of farms he’d had growing along the lines of the fence. The charms he’s used to repel pests had long since lost effect, leaving the vegetable farms and fruit farms alike littered with chewed leaves and roots. He’d need to ask for new ones, which means first he’d have to dig out the old ones and that required him to clean the rest of the garden.

He couldn’t just fix up the farms, after all.

He took a few paces out, having taken off his socks to wander barefoot through the long grass. It was crushed underfoot with a defeated, crunching ‘whshhh’ sound.

“Maybe I should just sell it,” he muttered under his breath. Someone else could deal with the mess he’d caused. He’d be more than happy with his car and no plans on where to go. Nothing to do but travel. 

That, however, was when a head poked up over the fence. Unruly red hair and an eye widened with shock, the other obscured by an eyepatch. His neighbour stood up taller, his clothes dirtied with mud and soil and the sleeves of an otherwise white shirt rolled up to his elbows. He was an odd sort of fellow and he seemed utterly perplexed by Asra’s sudden appearance. 

He took a few steps over to the fence - stumbling over something and muttering ‘Brundle!’ before he stuck out his hand.  
“Asra, wasn’t it?” he said with a toothy grin, unusually friendly for someone he’d not interacted with for many months. Asra stopped, frowning. 

He’d met this fellow once or twice, but that had to have been years ago by then. A year and a half? He wasn’t too sure. In all honesty, he didn’t know how long it had been since he’d last been here. Much less since he’d been here longer than a week. 

He walked over to the fence, trampling down grass in his wake. He extended his hand and shook the neighbours, Faust peeking out from under his wrist. His neighbour gasped and wrenched his hand back, before giving a nervous grin and pointing at the cheerful reptile.

“Are, uh- are you aware that there’s a snake in your sleeve?” he asked, his voice tinted with a slavic accent that seemed to have faded over time. Asra coaxed Faust out and into his other hand, lifting her. 

“She’s my familiar,” he said, setting her on his shoulder and letting her disappear under his collar once more. His neighbour looked a little queasy about it, but nodded and didn’t comment further. Asra was rather happy about that. He didn’t want to upset Faust, after all. She seemed excited to be seeing someone new, barely able to keep herself still as she slithered around his neck and over his chest. 

Asra paused a moment, guilt almost lacing into his words when he spoke again.  
“It’s been a while since I’ve been around here,” he said, “remind me of your name?”

The neighbour seemed a tad taken aback by this, but gave another one of those arrogant grins as he looked at Asra.  
“Julian Devorak,” he said, his tone suddenly bursting with pride - as if his name ought to be ringing any bells. “Friends call me Ilya, patients call me Doctor 069,” his eyebrow waggled at that. Asra had to refrain from rolling his eyes, “and I’ll respond to just about anything else. But trust me - I’m unforgettable.”

Asra nodded.

“That’s why I forgot, I assume?” he asked, his tone almost echoing something teasing before it faded, replaced instead by an achingly familiar numbness. The neighbour - Doctor Devorak - bristled a touch, as if he hadn’t accounted for that point.

“W-Well- my reputation precedes me,” he attempted, but Asra shook his head.  
“I’ve not been back here long enough to hear of any reputations.”  
“It /will/ precede me. When- uh- you hear it.”  
“It can’t /precede/ you when I met you before I heard anything about you.”

Julian huffed and seemed as if he was about to take a step back before stumbling again. He turned quickly and dropped out of view.

“Oh, Brundle! Stop walking around my legs!” he could be heard saying. Asra took a few paces forwards to peer over the fence, driven solely by curiosity, only to see his gangly neighbour scrunching himself up into a ball to be better eye-level with a wobbly looking dog. He seemed old, his muzzle spluttered with grey, his body covered in wrinkles and his fur thin in some places. His tail wagged, though, and though he seemed to be struggling to see with the wrinkles about his eyes, he looked happily up at Julian. “I don’t mean to keep kicking you, but I don’t notice you until it’s too late.”

The old dog - Brundle - let out a low ‘awroo’ of agreement and plopped down his hind legs, sitting down on the grass. Asra took this opportunity to admire Julian’s garden. Though it seemed out of character for anything about the man to be put together (admittedly a bold assumption to make about someone he just met) but the garden was rather well done. The grass was recently cut, the rows of herbs and whatever else was growing in his garden being well laid out and attended to. It almost made Asra conscious of how poor his own garden had gotten. 

“Do you do all of your gardening yourself?” he asked, frowning. Something about it irked him, making his stomach twist with something along the lines of envy. 

Julian looked up at him, shaking his head with a smile.  
“Not entirely. My sister comes around sometimes and helps me clean things up - all I need to do is, uh, try and keep it that way, I suppose.”

Asra nodded, but gave another sweeping gaze of Julian’s garden.

“I’ve not been home for months,” he muttered, Faust bumping his cheek reassuringly. “It’s all run away from me, and not just the garden.”

Julian got up, and dusted himself off, looking over at Asra.  
“Is it only you in there?” he asked, his brows furrowed, concern crossing his features. Asra’s house wasn’t huge, but it was big enough to be inconvenient. Especially for just one person. Asra gave a defeated sort of nod and glanced back at his house.

Just him, he reminded himself. It sounded so strange coming from someone else. 

“Isn’t that a bit of a task? I mean- I’ve just finished up with my garden, if you’d like help,” Julian offered, something almost sincere in the concern of his voice. Instinctively, Asra went to refuse. He could manage it himself, surely.

But then his eyes flicked to the garden, the weeds beneath his feet. His resolve gave away - just a touch.

‘Help?’ Faust hummed to him, her voice cheerful and peppy in the hopes of having a friend. He stopped and sighed, nodding.

“Faust says you should help,” he said, using his hand to coax her from his collar. He supposed that she had a point. He did need help, and it wasn’t as if his neighbour could get away with doing anything destructive or malicious. 

Julian seemed to grow squeamish, seeing Faust in his collar, but nodded aside from that.  
“Could Brundle tag along?” he asked, leaning down to scoop the old hound into his arms. Brundle seemed defeated and tired, but smiled and panted. His eyes found Asra and his tail started to wag, so it was an offer hard to refuse. Even if he’d tried to refuse it, Julian seemed rather excited to come over and to bring his dog.

Asra was more of a cat person.

“Fine,” he said, taking a few paces back from the fence. “The door should be unlocked, you can let yourself in.”


	2. Chapter 2

Julian was talkative. 

That was the most noticeable thing about him. 

Asra had gone inside and, with a flick of his hand, lit a fire under the teapot to start heating up. He’d filled it with water, then opened a couple of near-empty pots of tea leaves before finding one that had enough to use. They never ran so low before. He’d come back from trips to half-full pots at minimum. 

Still, he pressed it into a strainer and lowered it into the pot, then affixing the lid. He opened a few cupboards before finding the cups, the layout of his own home escaping him sometimes. He dug out two mugs from the left side of the cupboard, steeply avoiding any of the neatly organised ones stacked on the right, and rinsed them out before setting them by the pot.

He stopped, looking down at the pot. He listened to the water inside hum as it began to simmer, hissing steam spilling from the rim around the lid. The tea was done. He let it boil for a little longer. His eyes were affixed to that teapot. It had been a gift, hadn’t it? He’d brought it back as an apology for being out so long. Months, he’d been gone. He’d promised it would be weeks.

‘There was a holdup’ he could almost hear himself saying. Words from two years ago. Perhaps even longer. ‘I didn’t have the money to get back, so I stayed and did some readings. Then there was an issue with the well, and I was the only magician they knew that could fix it, so-’

“You say you haven’t been here in months?” came a voice from the doorway. Asra jolted and turned, snapped from his fervor. He didn’t know that such a faint memory had caused so much disarray in his head. His head felt numb, his eyes hot and his eyelids heavy. He wanted to sit down. Maybe throw the damn teapot out, find another that didn’t have any kind of meaning. 

He felt something bump against his leg and looked down. Brundle had bumped his nose there, his tail wagging. Asra hadn’t heard them come in. He’d not even heard the clacking of Brundle’s paws against the floor as he’d come over. 

“Yeah. Two or three,” he said, watching as Julian eyed the place. Regret turned in his system, flushing with shame to make a hideous combination. “Even then, I only stopped off for a day or so at a time. I’m rarely around.”

Julian nodded, finally stepping through the doorway. He had to duck under it, which was odd. Asra hadn’t noticed that he was quite so tall when they’d been talking in the garden. 

“I never get to stay away from home like that. I’ve only spent weeks away at most, but usually only to stay at the hospital or at a patient’s house,” he said, picking up the slack of the conversation himself. Asra leant down to pet Brundle, his fingers running over wrinkly curves and bumps. He flicked his hand and the fire beneath the pot shut off. 

“It’s a rewarding job to have - uh, one of the few that I’d be capable of doing, at least - but it doesn’t give me much room for anything other than work. I’m rather well known for my capabilities around this part of town, so I don’t often get time off. That’s why my sister comes to help me with the garden. Pasha- uh, if you meet her, she’ll introduce herself as Portia. She comes down often. Sometimes I’ll get home and she’ll already be there, or she’ll be on her way out with pockets stuffed with herbs!”

Asra just nodded along, pouring a cup of tea for each of them. Brundle had laid down on his kitchen floor, drooling around the flaps of his mouth. Asra was electing to ignore it for now, but Faust happily slithered down his leg to pester her new friend. Slobber and all. 

He picked up the two mugs and set them down on the only part of the table which wasn’t covered in clutter. Newspapers and post that he’d gathered up when he came home and left aside to deal with at another time. He was sure he’d stepped over another clump of them and hadn’t even realised. 

“She takes them up to Mazelinka,” - was Julian still talking? - “who used to look after us. Now it’s the other way around. She’s still mostly herself but I stop by to check on her health every so often. Pasha does most of her shopping for her, or helps out when she goes if she can’t quite convince her to stay home.” 

“Do you drink tea?” Asra asked rather bluntly, cutting off Julian’s conversation (if something so one-sided could be called that) in favour of a swift change in subject. He didn’t know much about Julian and he didn’t need to know his family history. 

“Oh! Not often, but I don’t mind it,” he said with a smile, reaching out for the mug as if he’d only just noticed it. He gave his thanks and, while he sipped at it, Asra cherished the glimpses of silence that he was given. After all, it wasn’t likely that it would last.

It didn’t.


	3. Chapter 3

It took all day for them to get through the kitchen. Asra went through cupboards to throw things out while Julian wiped down counters and tidied whatever he passed. The whole evening, Julian’s voice occupied the halls. Even Faust seemed to be growing tired of it eventually, but it was the most alive that the house had felt in too long.

Julian had eventually brought up dinner, and Asra, albeit reluctant to have company much longer, suggested that they eat at his house. He mentioned something about ordering food, since he didn’t have enough to cook a decent meal with, and Julian agreed, muttering about his cooking skills - or lack thereof. 

By the time the sky was coated in gold and amber, the last glimpses of the early spring sun beginning to fade away over the horizon, the kitchen and half of the living room had been salvaged. Asra slumped down into his old seat at the kitchen table and Julian into an unoccupied seat opposite. Asra had made them two more cups of tea while they waited for the delivery, and finally, it seemed that Julian had run out of things to say.

The silence was nice.

It may have been the loneliness, but the company was nice, too.

Faust was coiled up around Asra’s mug, and every time he brought it to his lips, it looked like Julian was about to comment. Perhaps assuming that Asra didn’t know about the snake coiled around his mug. He didn’t mind. Faust liked the warmth - it was why she always curled up around him if she didn’t have a warm teapot to cosy up to.

“You’re a doctor?” Asra asked after a few moments, unsure why he was prompting Julian to talk so soon after he’d gotten him to shut up. “How long have you been working as one?” 

“Oh, years,” Julian said with a smile, leaning back in his seat. He reached down to pet Brundle, who was lying on the floor beside the table. “I started in my late teens, but I only settled down around two years ago. When I moved here.”

Asra nodded along, his eyes fixed on Julian. He was a rather odd character for a doctor, and that eyepatch definitely left a lot of questions to be raised, but Julian seemed rather confident in his line of work. 

“And you?” he asked, possibly one of the first times he’d asked about Asra. “What do you do? I’ve seen lots of, uh, herbs and cards and stuff.” 

He supposed that that made him smile. That much ought to have been obvious.  
“I’m a witch,” he said, reaching into his pocket to produce his treasured tarot deck, spreading the cards over the table in one swift move, then gathering them up again just as smoothly. “I do card readings, make potions and herbal remedies, charms, the occasional seance when required… the simple things.” 

Julian seemed to have faltered at this, frowning.

“Simple things?” he echoed, “remedies, seances- those are simple?” 

Asra shrugged lightly, though he felt a thrum of pride at the way Julian regarded his work with such clueless admiration. It was the one thing that had truly given him any sense of satisfaction or contentment in a long while, his work. Being able to perform spells, rituals, to have a rare and strong talent to flaunt. It was a skill that few possessed and fewer to such a high level. 

“Simpler than most,” he said, a grin on his lips. He was about to speak again, to further his brag, but the door was knocked on and Asra got back to his feet.

“That’ll be our order,” he said, already moving around Julian and the dog lying on the floor to get out of the living room and to the door. Julian let him go, smiling as he pet Brundle. Faust uncoiled from around Asra’s mug and, by the time the magician was returning, Julian was scrambling to his feet to avoid Faust coiling up around his hands or slithering into his shirt.

“She’s harmless,” he said, setting down the pizzas they’d ordered on the dining room table, scooping Faust up.

‘Squeeze!’ she said, seemingly cheerful enough despite the nervous look in Julian’s eyes as he settled back down. 

“She just wants to give you a cuddle.” 

Julian gave a nervous sort of laugh, reaching for the pizza they’d gotten - a large margarita, simple enough and a decent portion to share. Asra wasn’t the best at managing money, either, and his appetite was lacking since he’d come back ‘home’ so he wasn’t sure he’d eat much. Julian could help himself - he’d be fine. 

“How long have you lived here, then?” Julian asked, a swift diversion of the conversation away from Asra’s snake and these alleged cuddles. 

“Oh, years,” Asra answered with a relaxed smile, taking a slice of pizza and taking a bite, tearing a piece off for Faust to snatch from between his fingertips, happily disappearing under his collar again and settling around his neck to rest. “It was a good place to set up while I was away, and this was a big enough area for business. I’d say it’s… coming up on eight years now. The house was in a state similar to this when I bought it, and it took a hell of a lot of time to get it all patched up.”

Julian nodded along, eating his own slice.  
“I only moved in around a year and a half ago. I introduced myself to you shortly after, I’m sure. I can’t remember too well. I greeted a few people around this area, but I wasn’t… ah, I didn’t go around meeting everyone. I suppose I made a name for myself pretty quickly, even if by accident. And not entirely for my skills as a doctor.”

Asra knew better than to question it.

“I can’t say that I do remember it. I know I saw you a couple of times, but I’ve been off on so many travels since then.”

Julian nodded, smiling.  
“These travels, or journeys… where do you usually go? I never get to travel too far anymore, so I’m rather curious about it all.”

The tension had eased from Asra’s shoulders by then. Warm food in his hand and easy conversation through the air, he’d almost forgotten how suffocating it had felt just to step foot back onto this property.

“Oh, as far as I can go,” he said with a smile. “I’ve got a little van of my own, sitting at the end of the drive now. I need to clear the driveway before I can park it there. It’s purple, and it’s gone with me everywhere. When the house is in shape, I’m going to clean it out and pack it for another trip. I once went all the way to Nevivon, and I’ve even found an extra spot to call home during some of my journeys, out in the desert. I met a whole village out there to perform tricks for, and they invited me to join one of their festivals.”

Asra paused for a moment, but saw how intently Julian had been listening along, the shimmer in his eyes and the smile on his lips, and he couldn’t help himself. Not all of the story he told had to be true, did it? He’d just exaggerate the fun parts a touch.

Nobody had listened to him so intently in years.

“I made fireworks light up the sky and gave them readings. The festivities lasted for days at a time, and I had my face painted with flowers and markings. They had such wonderful drinks, too, but refused to give me any recipes. I was told that I’d need to come back if I wanted more, so that’s where I’m going to be going when I can next travel. Faust even got some paint, and she’s been eager to go back and get a little more on her scales. I even met another travelling magician, and we made remedies of lavender and honey to cure the hangovers at the end of the festival.” 

Julian nodded along, eating and drinking and clutching to every word like Asra were to tell him the secrets to unlocking immortality.

“I never wanted to come back home,” Asra said, still smiling, the memories fond, though steadily becoming laced with a nostalgic bittersweetness. “I came back to put away some trinkets, some ingredients for rare potions that they’d offered up in exchange for the readings, and other things I’d collected on the way back. I exchanged the spare vials of newt legs for a new shawl, and I traded a necklace I’d gotten as a gift for some bread to eat. I’d looked into ways to make face paint the way that they had done, but even if I’d made it, it wouldn’t have been the same without the festivities.”

“I stopped in a few cities on my way back,” he said, still smiling, clearly quite proud of his travels, more than content to brag about it. “I made friends from as far as the Temple District, all the way to South End.”

“South end?” Julian echoed, awe in his voice, tinged at with nostalgia. “I remember that. I was arrested there once.”

That caught the attention of the conversation with ease. 

“Arrested?” Asra pressed, content to have the conversation shifted away from him once more. With no judgement in his tone, Julian didn’t take to justifying his ‘arrest’ and instead, his eye lit up in excitement of having the chance to launch into a story.

“It was a dark night in South End,” he said, his theatrics already seeping into his tone. Asra picked up another slice of pizza, bringing it to his lips and leaning on his free hand, comfortable listening to Julian. “There was a fight. I could hear the shouting and, well, a hopeless hero type like myself had to investigate it. I was drawn in by the danger, ready to intervene and save someone while I did. Though, by the time I got there, it had escalated from drunken insults being hurled to punches being thrown. And, well, I came to intervene! I wasn’t going to back down solely because I was intimidated - which I wasn’t - so I stepped forwards.”

The story progressed. Asra wasn’t paying so much attention about five minutes in, and by the ten minute mark he’d realised that Julian was only telling half of the truth. By the fifteen minute mark, Asra was getting up to collect a bottle of expensive wine in an attempt to get Julian to stop talking. 

It worked for a few moments, but when the bottle started to go down, the volume and the amount of talking started to increase. 

Asra was almost enjoying it. After so long spent around or barely talking to people, this was such a change. For one man to bring so much liveliness to his apartment and his evening when crowds upon crowds had failed to do the same was… odd. It was something he hadn’t felt in a while. 

But that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing.

“I haven’t had anyone here in so long,” Asra said shortly, his voice a touch slowed and his words melting together with the slight intoxication. “It’s still such a mess… I don’t think I thanked you for helping out that first day.”

Julian laughed. He did that a lot, laughing. It wasn’t unpleasant to hear. His voice wasn’t too bad, either. Asra had certainly met others with worse voices. Higher pitched shrieks and incessant whines. Even when Julian was stumbling over his words and telling twenty minute long stories that he was making up as he went, it was nice to hear. 

He didn’t know how anyone could have so much energy. 

“You didn’t,” Julian said as his laughter died down, still smiling. “I, ah… I don’t know if I’m misremembering, but wasn’t there someone else here? The garden never got too unruly before, but-”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Asra said, his voice suddenly heavier. Weighed down with the sudden memory of their laughter, of their voice, of how hollow the house seemed without it. Everyone else could see how things were slipping from his grasp, how everything was beyond his control without them there to anchor him.

The memories hurt. It was a deep, aching pain that settled in his chest, in his stomach, making every breath agony as it hitched. 

‘How would you live without me?’ he could hear them saying, his stomach twisting. His eyes were growing hot. 

“Get out.” 

Julian coughed, the abrupt order having caught him off guard while he’d been sipping at the wine Asra had poured for him. 

“Huh? I- uh, what?”

“Get out! I told you to leave,” Asra snapped, lifting his head to glare at Julian. 

“I’m… I don’t understand,” he said, though he was setting down his glass and starting to get to his feet. Faust was bumping her head against Asra’s hand. 

‘Leave?’ she asked him, sounding upset. Julian whistled and Brundle started to plod to his feet, stretching his paws out and yawning. 

“Get out,” Asra said again, more resigned, his head slumping into his hands. “Just leave. I don’t want to hear anything else. Shut the door behind you.”

If Julian said anything else, Asra didn’t hear it. He didn’t want to hear it. Faust stayed curled up by his head, occasionally asking him if he was alright and curling around his hand whenever he tried to push her back. 

Julian had no right asking those kinds of questions. Nobody did! He’d lost someone important, why did Julian think he was in any position to ask about it? Why didn’t he already know? It was a crushing weight on Asra’s chest, he couldn’t go a day without thinking about it - and Julian was able to spend every day of his life not knowing that pain? Never thinking about something like that?

Asra blindly felt around for the glass Julian had been drinking from, lifting his head just enough to see where it went when he threw it across the room.  
“And good riddance!” he shouted, the burst of rage coming from somewhere beneath the sadness laying heavy in his chest. “Don’t ever come back!”

When the anger settled, humiliation and frustration came in its place. He’d need to clean up that mess of wine and glass eventually, but that would be a problem for when the morning came. When he was sober, and less stupid, and his body was less heavy. 

And, despite the ugly emotions festering in his chest, Asra somehow eventually managed to pass out. His head pounding, Faust curled around his wrist, slumped over at his kitchen table. Still tiredly cursing Julian in his mind for what he’d done, though he didn’t know what that was anymore.


	4. Chapter 4

The stain from the wine didn’t come out. 

It was a mistake for Asra to fall asleep and leave it for ‘sober Asra’ to clean up, because it wasn’t going anywhere. His head was pounding when he woke up, so he stumbled to the sink for some water. He could have sworn he didn’t even drink much, but… in the same breath, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d drunk anything. 

By the time the glass was cleaned up and he got to try to remove the wine stain, it was too late and the red splatter in the rug wasn’t going anywhere. It didn’t matter - he’d roll it up and find another to use instead. He had plenty of all kinds of colours that Appra hadn’t wanted out on display for various reasons. He’d find the most hideous one he could, as soon as he got around to it.

His thoughts wandered back to Julian. 

Part of him felt bitter. Still left with the residue of anger of the night before, he ached to have something to let it out on. To shout at Julian again for being reckless and… 

Ah. 

The bigger part, the less vocal part of his mind, was biting back the truth. He didn’t remember what Julian did. Not a moment of it. He couldn’t recall where the conversation went past Julian launching into some… story. He couldn’t remember anything but telling Julian to leave so loudly his throat hurt.

He didn’t remember throwing the wine glass until he woke up and saw the mess.

Faust was curled up around his arm or his neck for most of the morning. She kept quiet, unusually so, and Asra didn’t press it. Neither of them spoke at all until Asra took some of his breakfast up on his fork and offered it out to her.   
“You hungry?” he asked, his voice a tired murmur. 

‘Not hungry!’

She sounded annoyed. 

Asra set his fork down in the bowl, his stomach twisting in response to getting anything to eat at all. Maybe he should have had some more water. 

“Me neither,” Asra mumbled, setting the fork down and putting his head in his hands. Faust curled about his fingers, butting her nose against his head. Something hot and ugly was settled in his chest, burning with discomfort. He didn’t know why, or what had brought it on, but the way Faust spoke to him wasn’t helping. 

Julian. 

It must have been Julian. 

He uncurled Faust from his fingers and set her around his neck, moving around the kitchen table and leaving his cold breakfast where it was to stomp his way down the overgrown, weed-ridden driveway outside of his house. He opened the door to his van and settled behind the wheel, letting Faust slither out of his sleeve and around the wheel, coiled tightly around it to let the warmth of the sun settle on her scales. Asra took his keys, along with their mound of keychains, from his pocket and slotted it into place. It turned with a loud clanging jangle of metal, and the van purred as it came to life.

To say that his van looked the way it was expected to was an understatement. 

The exterior had once been solely purple, glimmering with polish, but was now covered almost entirely with murals and paint. Asra had spent the years since he’d gotten it using new paints from new places to add new features, welcoming company and allowing any self-proclaimed artist add their own touch. One of his favourite features was just below the door handle on the passenger side - a daisy, drawn sloppily by a child, using only their thumbs for the paint. 

The inside didn’t look much different. The front was covered in different plants, sitting in the cupholders and the doors, while the seats were wrapped in colourful fabrics. The back was adorned with rugs and blankets of all colours, with a fridge and a few compartments to store food and valuables if he had any when he set off. He had a rainbow of lighters hidden away in a drawer, too, all decorated with their own symbols to make a mural when pressed together, for when he found somewhere desolate to settle down and smoke. 

His van was where he’d lived for the last few months. He’d made it as comfortable as he could, somewhere that he could thrive and live, even at the worst of times. 

Even when he was at his worst settled in the back of his van, it felt better than it had to stand outside of that house.

Than every moment spent alone inside it. 

His hands curled tighter around the wheel and he put his foot down, starting suddenly and quickly out of the spot he’d been haphazardly parked in, and let his van take him down the roads. He didn’t have a clear idea of where he was going, but he was going to be gone for a few hours, at the least. Some time to clear his head. 

He needed to clear his head, after all. And to get some carpet cleaner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chapter wordcounts are inconsistent but its part of my charm. also if u guys Love Me then my kofi is Ko-fi.com/wormy_gutz   
> i dont have plans for nadia or lucio or portia just yet (like i have an Idea for portia but nothing fleshed out) so if u guys have suggestions or itty bitty requests lmk <3


	5. Chapter 5

“That’s exactly it!” Julian said, pacing back and forth in his living room, one arm over his chest and resting by the elbow of the other, which he used to gesticulate. He had company today - company that wasn’t Asra. “Pasha, I don’t know what happened! I told you how things were going. He invited me over!”

Sitting on the couch, eyes on her phone, Portia scoffed.   
“Did he invite you or did you invite yourself?” she asked, a knowing and teasing smile on her lips. She was flicking through something on her phone, “I’ve told you time and time again, Ilya. You can’t invite yourself everywhere.” 

Julian threw his arms into the air with a loud, dramatic groan. When he leant back, his elbow settled on the table behind him. His head tilted back, slouching, fully melodramatic. Portia didn’t look up from her phone.   
“I only wanted to get to know him! I’ve been his neighbour for years, Pasha, years! I’ve never once been able to hold a conversation with him, and the first chance I get I blow it? I’m the biggest fool that’s ever wandered the earth!”

Double tapping something on her screen, Portia shrugged.  
“Sounds like it,” she said, “I swear, Ilya, you’re useless sometimes.”

Julian lifted his head, looking at her. His brow furrowed with frustration and he parted his lips to say something when Portia gasped, almost dropping her phone.   
“Oh my god!” she said, clicking a notification before thrusting the screen out towards Julian. He leant down to pluck the phone from her hands, frowning. “Nadi texted me back! I thought she was going to be too busy today - she said she was visiting her sisters, so I wasn’t sure if she’d find any time to reply.”

Julian took the phone, looking at the text that had come through. Aside from his sister’s abundance of messages (and colourful array of emojis) there was, in fact, a single reply from her girlfriend, Nadia. 

‘Arrived an hour ago. Missing you dearly.’ it said, no regards to any of the messages that Portia had been sending all morning. 

Julian passed her back the phone.  
“Visiting family?” he asked, still leant back against the table. Portia nodded, smiling as she started to furiously type out her response. Every so often, she’d tap the same spot seven or eight times before sending. How she ever typed like that was a mystery. 

“Yeah! She hasn’t spoken to her sisters in a while. She’s visiting them for Nazali’s birthday-”  
“Oh! Pass on a well message from me, will you? And, ah… tell her that if I’m allowed to visit, I’ll be there for their next birthday. I swear, I never mean to forget. Tell Nadia that I’ll have something to give her to make up for it.”

Portia huffed, but she picked up her phone and began typing out another message.   
“What about you and your neighbour?” 

Julian frowned.

“What about us?”  
“Aren’t you two texting?”  
“Pasha, I’ve only known him for two days. I can’t show up and demand his phone number.”  
“Why not?” Portia asked, frowning as she tapped send on her text, then setting her phone aside. “It’s what I did with Nadi - and look at how that’s gone. Plus, you wouldn’t be demanding it. You’d be offering your number in case he needs help with cleaning again.” 

Julian sighed, slumping back against the counter.   
“I don’t know, Pasha. I’ve ruined it all! He’ll never want to see me again after this - the humiliation I’ll feel if I do anything like that…”

Something soft hit him in the stomach. Julian looked down to see a cushion lying on the floor, tipping his head back up to look at Portia just as she threw the second, this time hitting him in the face.  
“Stop being so dramatic,” she groaned, tipping her head back. “I swear, Ilya, you’ll be the death of me.” 

Julian picked up the pillow from the floor and threw it back at her. Portia caught it with ease, setting the red cushion back down onto the black couch.   
“What do you propose I do, if you’re so smart?” he asked, throwing the second cushion at her. He missed entirely that time.   
“Have you considered going over and apologising to him?” she asked, though they both knew that the answer was no - he hadn’t considered it. 

When all that came was embarrassed silence, she rolled her eyes and threw another pillow at him.   
“There you go. That’s a starting point.”

“I should bring him something, too, shouldn’t I?” Julian asked as he moved around his stout coffee table - one that never stayed in the same place with how often he kicked it or bumped into the corner with his shin. “I messed things up last night, I wouldn’t want to be overbearing. Maybe I could leave him a gift and a note and then leave before he gets to the door.”

Whatever she thought of that, Portia didn’t tell him. Instead, she let him rummage around through kitchen sinks filled with all kinds of different items. Most of the things he had stuffed into his cupboards didn’t belong in a kitchen, but Julian seemed to know where things were. It was only when he settled on a certain cupboards that he seemed to have an idea. 

He opened it and reached far back into it, feeling blindly for something and soon producing a bottle of Vesuvian wine. 

“I thought I’d gotten rid of all of your alcohol,” Portia said from where she was standing, now watching curiously as Julian explored his kitchen.   
“Ah… most of it,” he said with a slight tint to his cheeks, before turning and thrusting out the bottle towards her. “This will do as a gift, don’t you think? We drank some last night, I knew I had it somewhere. It’ll be a worthy replacement for the one I, ah… wasted.” 

“You mean you drank it,” Portia said, her hands settled on her hips. “Ilya, we talked about this. You need to-”  
“I’m getting better, Pasha. I only had a few glasses. I could walk home fine. I’m only bringing one bottle over to him, and I won’t have any.” 

Portia murmured something under her breath. Julian didn’t respond to it, getting to his feet and setting the bottle down. He walked around her, disappearing through to his office to collect a pen and some paper before returning to the kitchen. 

“I’m checking the cupboards when you go out,” she said, back on her phone again. Again, Julian didn’t say anything, instead leaning against the desk and starting to scrawl out an apology note. He wasn’t sure what he’d done, so he left it vague and finished it with a note hoping for a future improvement to their relationship and for Asra to enjoy the wine. 

He used some twine to tie it around the neck of the bottle, leaving the note attached to it and turning back to Portia. She looked tired.

“Do you think that I should bring anything else?” he asked her, earning only a shrug of the shoulders and some dismissive murmur. Julian sighed, now feeling worse than before he’d asked her help, but said he’d be back shortly. He couldn’t even feel anger for Portia’s sudden change in attitude. 

Hell, he wasn’t sure that he was feeling anything. Nothing but the idle tingle of anxiety in his stomach as he looked at the bottle in his hands. He wasn’t sure how badly he had messed up his potential relationship with Asra. The first chance he’d had to spend actual time with his neighbour and he, somehow, had messed it up. 

Oh, how terrible it would be. He’d pack everything up and move to the other side of the country if he could. 

He looked up at Asra’s house. There weren’t any lights on, but he walked up regardless. His hands nervously worked at the neck of the bottle in his hands. He reached out slowly, knocking on the door loudly. He took a pace back. 

“This is a bad idea,” he murmured, looking at the bottle again. “He’s not in. Or he… he might not like it. This is a bad idea. I should go home. It’s not…” 

“Uh, Julian?” 

Julian turned around so suddenly he almost lost his balance. There Asra stood, walking up his own drive, frowning up at him. This was a bad idea.

“I- Ah- y-you’re not in,” he stuttered out, almost instantly regretting ever speaking at all. Asra frowned.  
“No, I’m not. What’s that?” 

Julian looked at the bottle in his hands and quickly thrust it out towards Asra.   
“I felt bad. About, ah… what happened last night. I was about to leave it on the doorstep, in case you didn’t want to talk.”

Asra reached out for the bottle. He looked at the label on it, then picked up the note that Julian had left. He stared at it for a few moments, brows furrowed, before looking up at him. Julian could feel the heat of embarrassment flushing his cheeks.   
“I can’t read this,” Asra said, stepping around Julian and jangling his keychains as he slotted his key into the door. 

Part of Julian was relieved. The other part of him was mortified. 

Asra stepped inside of his house and kicked off his shoes, then turned back to Julian as he loitered awkwardly on the driveway.  
“Do you want to come in?” he asked, Faust peeking out from his collar. “I can order takeout again.”


	6. Chapter 6

With his coat settled over the bannister in the hallway, Asra brought Julian through to his living room. He picked up his phone, whose many charms clattered and clicked as they moved. The wine settled on the table, Julian’s illegible note still settled around the neck of it. 

With a nod from Asra, he settled down on the plush couch in Asra’s living room. The cushions welcomed him in a comfortable embrace - one far nicer than his couch at home. Everything about Asra and his home seemed far more inviting than Julian’s ever had. Even when it was filthy and carried the faint smell of mold after being neglected, it felt like it was loved. Like there were fond memories tucked away in every corner and crevice of the place. 

Julian’s home hadn’t nearly been so lived in. 

When Asra’s phone was dropped on the couch, shortly followed by Asra himself, Julian turned his attention to him. He sat up straighter and picked up his gangly legs where he had stretched them out, making himself sit nicer. 

“I wanted to apologise,” he said, immediately catching Asra’s attention. Julian’s shifting was mirrored, and Asra sat up too. “For, ah… last night. It says it on the bottle, actually.”

The ghost of a smile appeared on Asra’s lips.   
“So it does say something?” 

Julian almost returned it.  
“It… says that I’m sorry. For last night. I was curious and it was insensitive for me to try and press personal topics. I don’t even know your last name, I shouldn’t have been asking about… who did and didn’t live here or why.”

For a moment, Julian didn’t understand why Asra’s eyes widened and his lips parted at that. Then, of course, he realised how much more sober than Asra had had been that evening prior. Julian had been preparing to ask Asra if he’d remember what he said at all when Asra interrupted. 

“That’s why I… Julian, it’s not your fault. It’s a little…” Asra’s elbow propped up on the arm of the couch and he rested his head on his hand, thinking. He was silent for a few moments longer, Julian trying to pick up the pieces and understand what was going on. “It’s a difficult subject.”

Silence followed. 

Julian nodded, though he took a few moments longer to avert his gaze from Asra’s face. Even in this late afternoon night, with the somber frown upon his lips, he looked distinctly handsome. The idea of running his fingers through those white curls almost took the breath from Julian. Only then did he turn his gaze away from Asra - to avoid letting the flush of his cheeks take away from the seriousness of the moment. 

“Things happen,” he said, “I understand.”

He could have imagined it, but for a moment he was sure that Asra’s shoulders had relaxed. It was barely visible, but some tension had left him. 

When the lingering atmosphere left from Julian’s words began to fade, and the quiet grew awkward, Julian started to think for something to talk about. 

“Do you want a drink?” Asra asked instead, interrupting Julian’s thoughts and instead getting to his feet. He left his phone on the couch behind him and started to the door to the kitchen so that he could get them some glasses.

The way Portia had snapped at him for drinking last night was still prominent in his mind. But he had only had a glass the night before, and Asra was waiting for his answer. He was hard to say no to.

“A little wouldn’t hurt.”

The smile that Asra gave him, though only a slight quirk of the lips, was enough to make something in his chest tighten. Julian sank back into the chair he’d settled on, his eyes flicking over to Asra’s phone and the abundance of charms that littered it. His keys were on the table, also coated with keychains. Something about it carried an odd charm. Something about Asra…

Julian sat up where he was relaxing, looking at the bottle of expensive, matured wine he had brought specifically to apologise for a minor mistake he’d made - one that Asra had said wasn’t even his fault. He put his head into his hands. That light feeling in his chest was still there from when Asra had smiled at him.

Oh. 

Oh no.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MAJOR TW FOR ALCOHOLISM
> 
> Mostly for the last chunk of the chapter but its a pretty big thing. Very negative. if you're sensitive to it, treat lightly.

Julian hadn’t just had a glass. If anything made that clear, it was the pounding and throbbing of his head when he woke up slumped on Asra’s couch. 

He couldn’t remember how much he’d had.

The guilt of overdrinking would have been stronger if it weren’t suppressed beneath his headache and beneath the crushing weight that the morning was pushing onto him. His eyes slowly opened, his heart hammering, and the first thing he noticed was white hair. It brushed against his jaw and his cheek, almost tickling, and when he went to move his left hand to scratch at his skin he found that he was trapped. 

Only then did he process what had actually happened. 

Asra’s weight was settled on his chest, on his shoulder, and on an arm that was suddenly alive with pins and needles. He moved his other hand. First to his head, then down his face, before looking down at Asra. 

He was still heavily asleep. No stirring breaths, no grumbles or groans, just the reassuring weight and warmth of a body against his own. He could feel warmth coming to his features, his heart racing. It pounded against his ribs harder than his brain did in his skull. What was he supposed to do?

He attempted to move from beneath the mass of warmth and immediately fell still again when Asra groaned. His face pressed into Julian’s chest for a moment and the flush to his face grew twice as strong. How would he get out of this? Would Asra find it awkward, waking up and feeling a body against his own, the same way that Julian did? 

His head throbbed. His heart was still pounding. 

Julian’s throat was dry. He needed a drink. 

He needed to get up. And yet… his eyes landed on Asra. On his delicate features. Rounded cheeks, sharp jawline, the stillness of his expression as he lay there with closed eyes. For a moment, Julian must have lost track of himself. His fingers brushed over Asra’s cheek, feeling the softness of his skin. Asra’s eyes fluttered and Julian was brought back to the present, to himself, his hand suddenly by his side again as Asra’s eyes opened. 

His eyes wandered to Julian, content, before crossing with a slight confusion. Then a frown. His hand settled on Julian’s chest and he pushed into a sitting up position, looking down at Julian. The numbness of his arm suddenly became so much more alive in it's ache as he got blood circulation back. 

“Morning,” Asra murmured, his morning voice low and carrying a slight coarseness. His other hand moved to his hair. Julian moved his aching arm, but his eyes wandered up to Asra. The late morning light caught him in a golden glow. His tangled mess of hair was still bubbly and curly, both his hair and his white eyelashes seeming to glow with golden sunlight. Julian’s breath caught in his throat. 

“Morning,” he said, his voice quiet and breathless.

Slowly, Asra’s weight was lifted from Julian’s body. It felt colder without him. Still, Julian couldn’t gather his scattered mess of thoughts, trying to recover from that glimpse of Asra on top of him, hand in his hair. From his plump lips to the curve of his nose, everything about him seemed ethereal. If only he’d been a little more bold. To touch Asra’s hair or his arm seemed like a dream. 

“Damn… didn’t mean to fall asleep on top of you,” Asra murmured, getting off of the couch. He stretched his arms over his head, eyes closing. Julian’s eyes found the stretch of skin that exposed when his arms raised and his shift lifted. He looked away again promptly, but it was far too late. He was breathless. Distracted already by Asra’s effortless charm. 

Julian shook his head when he realised what Asra had said. He sat up, moving a hand to his own hair and tugging his fingers through it, fixing it as best as he could without a mirror or a comb.   
“Not a problem. You could do it again, if you’d like.” A beat passed. That was the wrong thing to say. “Not that I wanted you to. Or that I didn’t. I wouldn’t stop you, but I didn’t mean to have you… uh, what I meant to say was, uh…” 

His eyes flicked up and caught Asra’s. He saw how he was being looked at. 

Shit. 

“No problem,” he said steadily, clearing his throat. “Is it warm in here? Or is it just me? I’m going to, ah…”

He got to his feet and stumbled a moment, lightheaded with dehydration. Asra’s hands settled on his arm and his back to support him but the gesture only made him dizzier.   
“I’ll go to the kitchen,” he said, “for some water.” 

Asra nodded and slowly pulled his hands back. Fingers brushed over Julian’s skin, over Julian’s shirt, making him tense. Perhaps it was just the early morning air or the fogginess of his head, but everything felt like it was happening so much more intensely. Julian stepped away from Asra and around the coffee table, only to bang his shin into the corner and hiss in pain. He stumbled, lifting his head and catching sight of Asra, of the quizzical and almost judgemental look he was being offered. Immediately, now feeling warm with embarrassment, he took hasty and clumsy steps towards the kitchen and ducked around the doorway, out of sight, so that he could slump against the wall to let the mix of feelings from that morning pass. 

What the hell was wrong with him? 

A few moments to recover and he was back on his feet, turning away from Asra and instead going to the sink. He took a glass from the drying rack and filled it with water, taking a slow sip. 

How much had he drunk? 

He could still recall the night before. Talking, dramatic and incoherent storytelling, flickers of some dancing. Eating takeout. Falling asleep on the couch. That was good - remembering things was good. That meant that he didn’t get blackout. 

So it wouldn’t have been that much. 

Footsteps came trudging through to the kitchen. Asra approached Julian from behind him and reached out for a glass from the drying rack, too, turning the faucet on to fill his own glance. Still, Julian felt tense. Still, Julian felt awkward looking at him.

He still felt giddy. And he couldn’t place why. 

“It was nice wine,” Asra hummed, taking a sip from his glass of water. A flash of blue ran by the sink and Julian jumped, stumbling back as Faust curled around Asra’s forearm, settling snugly with her head by his elbow. 

“Hah… yeah? You liked it?” he asked, eyes fixed on the snake around Asra’s arm. Her head tilted. Asra’s eyes flicked to her. 

“Yeah, I did. And Faust liked your dancing.” 

The ghost of a smile appeared on Asra’s features and Julian fell quiet, flushed red. He took another sip from his glass of water.   
“Oh, uh… thanks?”

Silence settled like a blanket. They each took sips from their glasses and Julian watched as Faust coiled around Asra’s arm tighter, slipping into his sleeve and disappearing beneath it. Julian’s eyes followed the ghost of her slithering form as she found a comfortable place to settle. How Asra managed to stay still and let her explore was beyond him - he would never have been able to handle something crawling around on him like that. 

“Are you staying for breakfast?” Asra asked as Faust coiled around his shoulders, loosely wrapped around his neck. Julian’s eyes were fixed on her and on the glimpse he was getting of Asra’s collarbones. 

“Uh… breakfast? That- breakfast sounds good,” he said, taking another sip from his glass. His head killed. He shouldn’t have had anything to drink; he didn’t know how he was going to face Portia for this. 

Asra managed a smile, opening a cupboard and digging out some fresh groceries. Maybe that’s what he’d been doing the evening before, when Julian had been standing on his doorstep. Maybe he’d done it another time and Julian hadn’t been there at all. 

“Are you a good cook?” he asked, leaning against the counter, nursing away his headache with his glass of water. Asra had only ever ordered takeout when they were together.   
“I’m alright at it. A little rusty, but you can’t get delivery when you’re sleeping in a van on the side of the road.” 

He took a pan from the cupboard and checked it for muck before setting it over the stove. He moved his hand in a circular motion over the top of the pan and the stove set alight. Julian jolted, almost choking on his water at the sudden burst of magic. 

“You can just- do that?” he asked, setting his half-empty glass on the side. Asra lifted his head, a slight frown on his lips.   
“Do what?”  
“The- the fire thing,” he waved his hand at the stove. “How did you do that?”

Asra laughed, light and airy. For a moment - just a second - Julian could have sworn that his hangover was cured. He hadn’t heard Asra laugh before, but it was sweet and beautiful of a sound. It only lasted a second but it lingered in the air when he stopped, a smile and a light blush making him ever the more radiant. 

It was undeniable now. Julian had fallen fast and fallen hard. 

“It’s a simple spell,” he said, lifting his head to look at Julian. “Haven’t you seen someone do that before? Most things in this house can be done with magic.” 

When he was met with nothing but a dumbstruck, awed look, Asra offered another laugh. He cracked an egg on the side of the pan, sletting it sizzle as it settled. He set the cracked shells aside and got a second egg, cracking it with one hand while his other hand pointed towards the teapot. It was small and round, suspended on a hook just above a circular dish. He flicked his finger and a small ring of fire grew from the dish, heating the teapot. Julian took a surprised step back, his eyes lighting up as he looked at Asra. Never before had he seen something like that. 

He’d not been so close up with magic in his life - none of his family practiced and he’d been raised in a non-magical community, as far as he’d been aware. 

“That’s so impressive,” he said, eyes lingering on Asra. He was still smiling. This was the longest that Julian had seen him with such high spirits. “Could you do it again?” 

Asra’s smile grew. He glanced over to Julian and their eyes locked. Julian could feel his heart stop. 

“Maybe when I’m done making us breakfast.”

Breakfast was small but it was more than enough. Appetites were dwindling with the lingering hangover, after all, and soon Julian was saying his goodbyes to Asra. He gathered up the courage to ask Asra for his phone number (written on the back of his hand since he’d left his phone at home) and went back home. He knocked on his own door since Portia was inside and he was without his key, but the euphoria of a successful rekindling with Asra was short-lived. 

To say that Portia was annoyed would be an understatement. 

“Pasha?” Julian asked when the door swung open and he was met with nothing but a glare. “What is it?”

In the kitchen, where Portia had assured him she was checking, all of the cupboards were open. Bowls, plates, cups, cooking instruments that were scarcely used, and all kinds of cans and ingredients littered the sides. 

Every cupboard, it seemed, had been checked. And on the table were the fruits of her labour. 

Six bottles. 

One was a rich wine, much like the bottle he’d given Asra. Four of them were cheap Salty Bitters that he’d bought on a trip a couple of weeks prior and stashed away. One under the sink, two behind the herbs in a cupboard, and one that stayed just behind the fridge. How Portia had moved it to get it out, he didn’t know. The last bottle was open - a strong and sturdy rum with a branding to flaunt it's 38% alcohol capacity. 

“I found six. You had seven bottles in here yesterday,” she said, a sharpness to her voice. “Have you been drinking? Because this one is open.”

Her hand settled on the rum. Julian raised his hands.   
“Pasha, I told you I wasn’t doing any of that,” he said, shaking his head. The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, carrying the bile from that morning’s hangover. “They were just…”

He couldn’t find any words. Portia’s hands curled into fists as she collected the rum first, then taking the rich wine, packing it into a plastic bag. 

“Pasha! Don’t throw them out! I can- I could, uh,” he lost track of his sentence with the glare she fixed him again. Tears were in her eyes this time. Shit. 

“You told me. You swore to me and Maza that you’d thrown it all out,” she said, clumsily grabbing at the bottle of salty bitters, adding that to the bag. Her voice and her breathing trembled. Nausea was creeping its way into Julian’s system again and he couldn’t tell if it was because of the night before or because of how she spoke to him.

“I had! Or I- I threw out most of it! The wine was just expensive, I was going to save it and the- the salty bitters were… they’re not even that strong,” he said, though he knew there was no point. A tear rolled down her cheek and a pang struck in Julian’s chest. She sniffled, stuffing the last two salty bitters into the bag, wiping her eyes before grabbing the rum. 

“I can’t believe you, Ilya,” she said, taking in a stuttering breath. “I can’t believe this. You /promised/. It was bad enough last time, /you/ were bad enough last time.” 

He couldn’t find the words to tell her he knew. 

She wiped her eyes again. The rum was added to the bag.   
“I’m going to stay with Nadia for a few days.” 

Julian’s eyes widened. His lips parted as he looked at her, at his younger sister. He felt like he was going to throw up.   
“You’re leaving? Pasha, it’s not that bad. It isn’t. I promise, I haven’t drunk anything in…” 

Shit. 

/Shit/.

“Since when?” she asked, picking up a backpack from beside the kitchen table. There was another bag on the floor by the kitchen door, large enough to carry most of her clothes and anything else she’d need.

Julian didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. 

She grit her teeth, glaring up at Ilya.   
“Do I have everything? Or are you hiding something else?” 

He didn’t want to answer that, either.

“I’ve, uh…” He moved one hand to his face. He didn’t know she’d find it. He shouldn’t have been drinking either way, but he didn’t know she would find it. “I’ve one or two more. I’ll get them.” 

One was in his bedroom. Sealed, he was happy to say, but tucked in the back of his sock drawer and kept hidden there. The second was in the bathroom, tucked away behind the first aid kit he kept at home - both bottles of applejack. He handed them to Portia, unable to meet her eyes, and carried her bag outside for her. 

“You don’t need to leave,” he told her, weak and distraught. “Pasha, I haven’t- only one of these is open, and I haven’t touched it in weeks.” 

She stopped abruptly, turning to glare at him.   
“You said you were getting help months ago. I’m not going to let you do this to me again. I’m not putting Maza through this. You stay here and get your shit together.”

She opened her car door and slumped the bottles in the rear footwell with her backpack. She took the bag from Julian and threw it into the car, slamming the door. 

Julian watched silently as she got into the drivers side and clipped her seatbelt in. She wiped her tears again and turned the key in the ignition. A pace back and she was pulling out of her driving spot, disappearing down the road.

No goodbyes, no hugs, not even one last glance.

Shit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm back, baby!! its been a while [like five months] but now winter is ending im getting more energy and im back in the groove of writing. I forgot how much I enjoyed writing this. 
> 
> Lmk what u guys thought, what you're hoping for, and if theres anything you're curious about!! :D


	8. Chapter 8

It wasn’t the usual sight to see from the neighbourhood windows, not at midday with the sun out and no clear reason for discontent to be brewing, but Asra had gotten the perfect view of Julian’s dramatic abandoning from the upstairs windrow, where he’d settled on the plush comforts of his hammock (layered with so many blankets it may as well have been a mattress) with a mug of steaming tea. The book on Magical Herbs and Mystical Properties lost its importance to the scene playing out. 

After so many months spent sitting on a shelf, Asra supposed that it wouldn’t be an issue to leave the book for a few moments longer so that he could indulge in his curiosity. 

Julian stood in his driveway for a few long moments after the car had sped down the roads, going over a speedbump so recklessly that it was sure to have done some damage to the bumper. From the slump of his shoulders and the lingering stares into the distant roads, Asra was sure it hadn’t been good news. He watched, almost guilty over his own interest, as Julian’s hands moved to his face and his head slowly tilted back, as if he meant to curve himself to the sky for whatever had occured. 

It took a few moments for his hands to fall to his side. Asra leant forwards and his drink spilled, hot tea spilling onto his fingers as it made its way onto his many blankets, earning a sharp curse and a hasty setting down of the mug. Shaking off his hand to get rid of the excess tea. By the time the bitter hiss of boiling water had faded and he lifted his head to look out the window, Julian was gone. His car was still parked, untouched, so it was likely he’d gone inside. 

Asra almost wanted to go knock on the door. Tell him that he’d seen the car leaving and wanted to see if he was okay - a thin and flimsy excuse for nothing more than curiosity. Julian was his neighbour, nothing more, even if they spent the evening together on occasion. 

He couldn’t show up to see what was going on, not even if he wanted to ask if Julian was okay.

No bottles of expensive wine nor mornings waking up lying awkwardly close could change that they were nothing but neighbours. Asra shouldn’t have even been snooping, it wasn’t Julian’s fault he was nosy and he wasn’t willing to make it his business. 

He picked up his book again and set it down on the hammock, avoiding the damp spot where his tea had spilled, and turned to the bedroom about him. The double bed and it's cold mattress looked uninviting. The blankets had all been moved to the hammock or into his van. There were only two plain pillows sitting on it, stripped of their pillowcases, while all of the more comfortable pillows and cute cushions had been taken and put elsewhere in the house. The bedroom, despite all of its intended purpose, was never slept in unless Asra accidentally dozed off in his excessively plush hammock. 

The wardrobe doors opened and Asra, tea still in one hand, took out his clothes for the day. A floral pink button up and some blue jeans, boot cut, with stripy rainbow socks. Usually he wouldn’t bother getting dressed, but today he planned on leaving the house. 

The tea was set on the windowsill. The top two buttons of his shirt were left undone, a simple string pendant with a blue gem resting on the exposed skin of his chest, a simple gold collar around his neck. He wore three gold rings, one on his index and ring finger on the right hand, one on the thumb of his left. He picked up some pink heart-shaped sunglasses and set them on his forehead, collecting his tea and sipping it while he made his way downstairs. 

His thoughts wandered to Julian. The person getting into the car had carried a resemblance to Julian, though Asra wasn’t sure what their relation was. He wanted to ask. 

Still, that curiosity lingered. Stronger than it would have been if he was truly only after gossip. Why had she left? Had Julian done something?   
Was there something being hidden from him? A reason why he shouldn’t continue to welcome Julian into his home?

A slow sip from his tea took the thoughts from his mind. He opened a cupboard by the door and took out a few reusable fabric shopping bags, each covered with a colourful print that bordered hideous. He dug out his keys and their mass of keychains and his wallet. 

“Faust?” he called. “Sweetie? Where are you?” he called, tucking his hands into his pockets. 

‘Here!’ chirped an excited Faust, coiling about Asra’s arm from the cupboard, disappearing under his sleeve and wandering up his arm. 

Asra dipped a hand into his collar, Faust’s head bumping against his palm as he ran his hands along her scales. 

“We’re going out today,” he hummed, patting his pockets and making sure that he had everything. Content, he slipped on his crocs and opened the front door, shutting it behind him. Faust settled snug around his neck as he walked down the driveway. Still, Julian was nowhere to be seen - but it was likely for the best. 

‘Where?’ 

“Where are we going?” Asra asked, taking his keys and clicking the car keys. The van beeped, perking up as it was called to attention, and Asra dumped his empty bags before he sank into his chair. He opened the compartment by the steering wheel and collected a neon green lighter, setting some incense in a handmade burner embedded in a cup holder. It was lavender scented - not his favourite, but one of the best of his limited selection. He’d collect more while he was out. He’d burned through more than anticipated on his last trip. “The supermarket. Then we’ll visit Muriel.”

Faust’s mood seemed to sour. Asra frowned.   
“What? Don’t you want to see Muriel today? I can leave you at home - it’s been too long for me not to stop by.”

‘Where Julian?’ 

Asra groaned. He sank back in his seat, head tipped back against the headrest.   
“We’re not doing this. Didn’t you see whatever argument he had? He won’t want to see anyone. I wouldn’t.”

She seemed upset. Asra moved his hands to his head, sighing, before taking his seatbelt and clipping it in. 

“Don’t start with me. We’re going to the supermarket. I’m leaving before you can try and turn me around.” He set the key into the ignition and twisted it, starting out of the driveway and down the winding roads, following the same path that that car had gone down earlier. He’d been sure that that was Julian’s car. 

He hadn’t recalled seeing anyone around Julian’s house before, but he’d never gone over. Had he? Julian usually came to his door or spoke to him over the fence. Asra wasn’t an instigator. 

The drive was brief. Quiet for most of the way, until Asra gave in and turned the radio on to ease out the tense quiet between himself and Faust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is just a little filler hehe another chapter should be out in a week or so :3 ive already started writing it


	9. Chapter 9

The supermarket was almost dizzying. Asra hadn’t been around one in far too long, visiting markets and trading with smaller shops in tired, quaint villages or lively towns that he heavily favoured over this. People stared at him, at the snake coiled around his neck, and every second that he spent there weighed on his shoulders. He grew closer and closer to leaving with each wailing child that he passed and each time he’d have to call for someone around him to move so that he could pass a bustling group with his shopping trolley. Faust came in handy for that much, working well to convince people to steer clear of the odd-looking magician with the hissing reptile around his throat.

The small pad of paper in his hand grew heavier the longer he spent searching for what he wanted. 

He collected bread, two loaves, and some freshly baked rolls. Eggs, for himself, and some spreads. Strawberry jelly, lemon curd, peanut butter. A litre of milk and a small tub of ice cream. He picked some fruits from the fresh produce aisle and then gathered a handful of chocolate bars from the confectionary section. 

It wasn’t much compared to his usual shop, but the currencies he’d collected on his travels weren’t likely to be accepted around here. He’d have to pick up a job of sorts again. Some magical freelancer. With his proficiencies, he was sure to find something to do that would pay the bills when the money he had began to run out. 

Still, though, he managed to hold up a line at one of the checkouts after taking a handful of coins from his purse, and by the time he was leaving he felt too fatigued to do anything but sit in his van for a good while. His hands wrapped around the steering wheel and his head thumped against it. Faust began to uncoil from around his neck and slid down his arm. 

“What?” Asra asked, just barely lifting his head. 

‘Goat!’ Faust chirped, looking out past the windshield. The fatigue, for one moment, melted away and Asra lifted his head. Surely enough, engaging in a shouting match only a few spaces away from Asra, a pompous blond asshole was arguing with someone, defending the wonky parking job his expensive red convertible had gotten. 

Suddenly, Asra had the keys in his hand and the car was purring to life. 

‘Drive!’ Faust chirped, as Asra seemed unlucky enough to have caught his attention, and he didn’t need to be told twice. The last thing he saw before his van was speeding to get out of the bustling parking lot was Lucio looking directly at him, all focus on his argument gone. 

“Shit,” Asra groaned, getting out onto the road and pressing his foot on the acceleration. “Shit, Faust. He knows that I’m in town again.” 

‘Language!’ Faust chirped, though she was coiling around his arm to try and comfort him. ‘Hate a goat!’

“Yeah, I hate him too. I just- I can’t believe our luck. I’d bet we’re going to get home and he’ll be stood on the doorstep. It’s a good thing we’re stopping in at Muriel’s.” 

Faust didn’t respond. Asra sighed and turned on the radio again, leaving her curled around his arm. It would be a two hour drive to get to the lonely, rural roads that Muriel’s house sat on. The frustration of spotting Lucio ebbed away around twenty minutes into the drive and Faust settled on the dashboard, under the sun, shortly thereafter. 

By the time Asra was parking his multicoloured van amongst the overgrown greenery that made up Muriel’s garden, the stress of the shopping trip had worn off entirely and he was left with nothing but excitement to see his oldest friend. He grabbed the shopping, save for the chocolate bars he’d eaten during the drive, and stepped on overgrown grass and weeds on his way to the dull wooden door to Muriel’s home. 

He lived in a small cottage, a bungalow with a thatched roof and once white walls covered mostly with overgrown ivy. It bit into the cement and the cracks in the paint, most of the house obscured with how the nature around it had claimed it. The door was once painted a shiny dark brown, now dulled and faded with neglect. Asra stepped onto the cement doorstep, scuffed his feet on the corner in place of the doormat Muriel didn’t have. 

His house looked abandoned, with the curtains on the only visible window drawn, but Asra happily raised his hand and knocked on the door.  
“Muriel?” he called, hearing loud barking almost immediately start up on the other side. The excited barking got louder, the only sign that anyone inside had noticed his appearance, and after a moment there was the thunking sound of the door unlocking.

“Inanna, quiet,” came a gruff and low voice. The barking stopped almost instantly, but as the door opened it was clear that she was still excited. Her bushy tail was thumping, her ears perked up, and her tongue hanging out of her mouth as she looked at Muriel. Asra beamed at the sight of his friend, stepping inside without waiting for the door to open fully. 

Muriel was, by all definitions of the word, huge. He was a tall man, too tall for his own doorway, with broad shoulders and a broad build. His hair was long, drawn back into one simply ponytail, but his furrowed brows and dark green eyes lightened up when he saw who it was interrupting his calm. 

“Sorry I didn’t check in,” Asra hummed, kicking off his crocs at the door and stepping forwards, wrapping his arms around Muriel’s waist. “I only got back a couple days ago.” 

At any other time, the hug would have been rejected. Years had gone by between Muriel moving into this quaint cottage and Asra being able to give him a hug unprompted, but strong, scarred arms slowly wrapped around his shoulders. He’d once been muscular, many years ago, but much like his comfort with being embraced, Muriel had eased into a healthier eating pattern and taking days to himself without working himself to the bone exercising. His muscles weren’t prominent anymore, embraced by a layer of healthy fat that rounded at his stomach. 

“It’s fine,” he grumbled, letting the hug linger until Asra’s arms loosened and he deemed it safe to pull his own arms back. He turned without a comment, trudging further into his house. It was a cosy place. Small, with only three rooms; the living room and kitchen combined, a bedroom, and a bathroom. The curtains for the windows facing out to the garden were open, letting in natural light and showing off the chicken coop that Muriel had made by hand. 

“Have you moved things around?” Asra asked, setting down the shopping bag he’d brought in the kitchen. Muriel settled on his couch, Inanna hopping up beside him after a moment and sniffing his face and his hands. 

“A little.” Muriel settled one of his hands between Inanna’s ears, scratching. She settled into a sitting position and then, slowly, lay down with her head on Muriel’s lap. “What have you brought?”

Asra took the bread from his bag.  
“Only a few essentials. I stopped off at the store just before I came over,” he said, taking the mostly-melted ice cream and setting it in the small, whirring freezer. The milk went into the fridge. 

“Store bought bread?” Muriel asked, still petting Inanna but now looking up at Asra. He almost sounded disappointed, despite his flat tone. 

“I haven’t done any baking for a while,” Asra said, setting out the fruits and placing them in the otherwise empty fruit bowl. “I haven’t had the time or the ingredients. You know it’s been a while.”

Muriel didn’t say anything for a few long moments. Inanna snuffled and shook her head. Her ears flapped.  
“It tastes better when you make it.”

Asra faltered a moment. Something not too far from guilt spurred in his chest. He hated the feeling. He knew that Muriel preferred it when he made the bread himself, but baking took too much time. Too much energy. 

“I’ll bring some fresh bread next time,” he said, almost kicking himself for it. He turned away from the shopping and settled on the couch beside Muriel, the other side of Inanna. Asra’s weight settled against Muriel’s arm and he sighed. It felt good to be with Muriel again. He should have come straight here instead of ever going back to that house. 

Perhaps he’d just move. Far away from that house, from it's memories, and away from where Lucio knew to look for him. Then there was the flash of red hair, the thought of a laugh light and easy, of takeout and wonder at the sight of magic. He supposed, despite everything else, there was one reason that he was glad he’d gone back to that house. 

“You’re thinking,” Muriel said in his usual blunt manner.  
“Yep.”

This time, Muriel sighed.  
“What about?”

Asra wasn’t sure where to start. He reached into his collar and hooked his fingers around Faust, pulling her away from his throat despite her protests. He instead set her in his palm, offering her out to Inanna, who sniffed curiously with her tail still thumping. 

“It’s this… neighbour,” Asra started, letting Faust slither off of his hand and towards Inanna, eventually settling on her head and coiling up on top of the mighty hound. “Julian. Apparently he’s lived next door for a while but I only got talking to him a few days ago.” 

Muriel didn’t respond. Asra supposed that that meant he should continue talking.  
“He stopped in to help me clean up. The place was in horrible condition when I got back from travelling. I don’t know how I ever let it get that bad. We started talking, I suppose, and he seems alright. He talks a lot.”

That got a response. Albeit a small one, Asra did get a grumble. Talkative to Muriel was very different to what Asra meant by talkative. If Julian ever came over to Muriel’s, he wouldn’t be invited back afterwards. 

“I mean, it’s nice. Better than having a silent house.” He paused, phone buzzing in his pocket, and dug it out. It was a text from Julian - a photo; one of his front garden. There was someone standing in his driveway. Blonde. 

‘You know him?’ Julian’s text read. ‘He keeps shouting for you.’ 

Asra grimaced. Muriel glanced over and Asra didn’t shut off his phone in time.  
“Lucio?” he asked, his voice quieter now. Still mostly devoid of emotion, but there was that waver. Just for a second, his voice wavered.  
“I saw him at the store today, so he knows I’m in town,” Asra muttered. “He’s probably going to try and demand something from me. A spell or something. Maybe his arm is just getting stiff and he needs someone to fix it.” 

Muriel had gotten tense. Inanna shifted closer, her head resting on his stomach. His hand had gone still where it was petting her head. 

Asra clicked to open his phone.  
“I’m gonna tell Julian to call the cops if he doesn’t leave my house,” he mumbled, “I don’t have the patience to deal with that asshole.” 

He started to tap on his screen. 

‘ugh. dont engage. if hes not gone 2nite, call cops’ he sent. 

His phone buzzed.  
‘????’

Asra didn’t respond. He turned to look at Muriel, setting his phone aside.  
“Hey. He doesn’t know where I am, clearly. He’s not even bright enough to realise that my van isn’t outside my house.” 

He leant up, taking hold of Muriel’s free hand with both of his own.  
“Look at me, Muriel. It’s fine. He’s not going to come around here for any reason.” 

He could feel Muriel’s hand curl tight around his own. He shouldn’t have checked his phone. He should have set it aside, left it in the car or something. He could almost feel the icy chill that had gone down Muriel’s spine. He was only lucky that Lucio hadn’t been getting into his car at the supermarket and that he’d not been able to follow Asra. That he had gone to his house in the hopes of finding him. If he’d turned up with Lucio on his tail, Muriel might never have opened the door again. He’d have had to move further away, and Asra didn’t have many connections to get him a house like this somewhere else. 

“Muriel, hey. I’ll go move my van. Then I’ll come back and I’ll stick around here tonight, just in case.” He squeezed Muriel’s hand. Slowly, after a few moments, Muriel returned the gesture before loosening his hold enough for Asra to pull away. 

“Make sure you shut the door,” he said quietly. “And lock it.” 

“I’ll put a sealing spell on it,” he told Muriel. He had chalk in his car to draw the rune with - kept there for emergencies. “Nobody will get in without your permission.” 

Muriel nodded. Asra took that as the only sign he was getting that it was safe to leave. He shut the oak door firmly behind himself and got back into his van, shutting the door. He took a few moments to breathe before turning on the engine and starting to drive. Thirty or so metres down the road was a divot for cars to park in and, once his van was tucked away, he dug out the chalk and hopped out of his car.

He took to the side and drew a large circle, engraving a masking sigil and pressing his hand firmly against the van. A white glow was drawn out from his hand, illuminating the sigil circle. The van itself grew a faint glow, vines and leaves blossoming from it's side and masking the purple paint along the sides with a natural green and brown, giving the illusion that the space had never existed, only more greenery. The only thing that could give it away would be the feel of magic radiating from it, but if someone as powerless as Lucio drove by, he’d not suspect a thing. 

When he returned, the door was given a similar, though less draining treatment, and Asra returned to the living room. Muriel hadn’t moved much but Inanna was now settled on his lap and had settled her head on his shoulder. He’d relaxed enough to run his hand along her back. 

“Van is hidden, door is sealed,” he said, standing in front of Muriel. “You’re alright, Muri. He’s not gonna get near you.” 

It took around an hour for Muriel to calm down fully. Asra set up the fire when night drew nearer and convinced Muriel to let him turn on the lights if he put another spell on the window to keep the light from being visible to the outside. Their dinner was simple, omelettes from Muriel’s chickens with toast, and Asra convinced Muriel to have a little ice cream for dessert. 

“You’re sure you want to stay?” Muriel asked when evening rolled around, blanketing the room with chill only staved off by the fire. The curtains to the garden were drawn by then, only out of precaution, and Asra was settled comfortably beside Muriel. Faust had already curled up on the stones around the fireplace. 

“I couldn’t go back to that house,” Asra murmured. He caught how Muriel was looking at him and shook his head. “Not because Lucio could be there. Julian’s already told me that he left. It’s just…”

The words were awkward in his throat. Weighted and clumsy. 

“It doesn’t feel like it’s my house anymore,” he said, head tipped onto Muriel’s shoulder. “It was supposed to be our house, me and Appra, but… now it’s just their house. And without them, it’s…” 

His breathing faltered. Why was it so difficult to speak about things like this? He’d settle down in his van and think to himself about it for hours upon hours. He’d sit in his hammock by the window and find himself daydreaming about times long gone, about memories blurred with how distant they were. 

“I can’t even sleep in there anymore. I’m either sleeping on the couch or I’m sleeping in my van. I’d rather stay here than do anything like that.” 

Muriel, again, was quiet. Like he was thinking. Slowly, one of his arms settled around Asra’s shoulders. He didn’t need to stay anything. Asra turned to rest his head on Muriel’s shoulder and let out a shaky breath. 

“I can’t explain it,” he said, trembling. Each word was harder to get out than the last “I can’t... I can’t put into words how badly I miss them, Muri. Some days I can’t even get up. I’d rot away in bed if I could. I couldn’t even open the door when I came back. What’s the point in staying here if they aren’t with me?”

Tears were in Asra’s eyes by then. His words got choked up in his throat. Grief was a heavy burden - too much for his shoulders. 

“You can stay with me,” Muriel eventually mumbled. His arm wrapped tighter around Asra. “Whenever you want.”

They stayed like that for a long while. The dam didn’t break and no tears were properly shed, but Asra stayed close to Muriel with his head tucked in to make sure he wouldn’t embarrass himself by breaking down. Muriel kept his arm around Asra for as long as was needed. 

It wasn’t until late that Muriel offered that Asra take the bed. He agreed, albeit reluctant, aware that the earlier mention of Lucio would leave Muriel too paranoid to sleep that night. It was cold in Muriel’s room. The mattress was firm, the blanket was weighted, and the pillow was flat. It was nothing like the bed Asra had. Not in his van, nor in his room, nor was it as comfortable as the hammock by the window. 

And yet, it felt easier to sleep in. And by the time morning rolled around, he’d had no nightmares. Nothing but peaceful, easy sleep. 

And a phone buzzing beside his head.


End file.
